


Split the Bottle

by quartetship



Series: ADS Side Pieces [10]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: ADS Side Pieces, Alcohol, Family, Jewish Holidays, M/M, commission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-08
Updated: 2016-03-08
Packaged: 2018-05-25 11:17:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6192934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quartetship/pseuds/quartetship
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[He still wasn't sure he understood the things his family celebrated during the holidays and holy days, but he had never felt more blessed.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Split the Bottle

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RhetoricFemme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RhetoricFemme/gifts).



> Written on commission for [RhetoricFemme](rhetoricfemme.tumblr.com), this is a side/companion piece to my full length JeanMarco au, ['A Different Song'](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2300711/chapters/5060960). 
> 
> This one was an absolute pleasure to write; hope you guys enjoy!
> 
> \--

“You don't have to come, if you don't want to.”

It was about the eighteenth time that week Jean had said that very phrase, while on the phone with Marco. 

Passover was around the corner once again, and this time, for the first time, he'd be going through the the holiday, full house and full tilt, without his mother there to guide him. Of course he wanted Marco there to share in every moment of it with him. Really, he wanted Marco there to help him survive every moment. But he didn't want Marco to feel forced to sit through it, especially given the frigid reception both of their families had extended to the other in the months before. 

On the other end of the line, many miles away, Marco sighed.

“You know I don't mind being there, Jean. I  _ want  _ to. I just don't want to step on anyone’s toes.”

Jean hummed, thoughtful. “Whose toes are we talking about?”

“You know what I mean, Jean. Your aunts, your uncles, your cousins - I already feel like they're putting up with a lot, just knowing I  _ exist. _ I don't want to ruin their holiday by--”

“Ok, first of all,” Jean began, his tone suddenly sharp, “This is as much  _ my  _ holiday as theirs. Hell, I’m technically  _ hosting, _ at least if you count the fact that they're coming to my house to do this. I'm even doing the recitations. So as far as I’m concerned, if they don't want to do things my way, they can shove off.”

Marco laughed, breathy and tense. “Well, that’s true. I just--”

“And secondly, no one is putting up with you. I’m damned lucky to have you, and if they can't see past the fact that I’m dating a guy, and focus on the fact that I’m happy, then they don't deserve for anyone to put up with  _ them.” _ Jean paused for a breath, throat tight as he kneaded at his temples. He shook his head, trying to find the words to say everything he needed to, for Marco, and for himself. “I’m not my mom. I won’t let people say stupid crap to my face, just because it's a holiday. If they don't like my boyfriend, then they don't have to share a table with him. Or with me. But you absolutely are more welcome than anyone else, Marco. I don't just  _ want _ you here, I can't imagine another holiday  _ without _ you for the rest of my life.”

As soon as he'd said it, he wished he could take it back. Not because he didn't mean every word, but because he had a terrible habit of tiptoeing around promises of forever with Marco, and they hadn't actually had a real conversation about the topic, yet. It wasn't really the right time, then, while he was having a minor meltdown about family drama. But Marco didn't wait for long to speak up, to sweep away Jean’s anxieties about all of it, if just for a moment.

“I’ll be there.” He assured him. “Just promise to walk me through everything, yeah?”

In spite of everything, Jean smiled. “Only if I get to hold your hand while we’re doing that walkin’.”

\--

“The whole thing is basically a big dinner, and it's not even that good.” Jean laughed, legs tossed carelessly over Marco’s. As soon as Marco had arrived, there had been errands to run and things to prepare for the arrival of Jean’s family the next day, so it wasn't until that evening that Jean had a chance to run through things with him, to explain just what to expect from Marco’s first purely religious holiday with Jean’s very Jewish family. 

“It's all about doing things in the right order, and why we do them when we do. But I promise, it's not hard. I learned this shit in Hebrew school before I even knew my multiplication tables.”

Marco smiled, but heaved a sigh that didn't match his cheerful expression at all. “That makes me feel like the world’s slowest learner.”

“You’re gonna be fine.” Jean promised, mostly just to hear it, himself. “Alright, so there are fifteen parts to the meal, and we--”

“Fifteen?!” Marco gaped. Jean reached for him, squeezing reassuringly at his shoulders.

“It's not as bad as it sounds, seriously! There’s a rhyme, ok? I’ll teach it to you.” 

Squinting, Jean went over the rhyme once in his head, a sing-song voice reminding him of each word before he carefully recited them aloud to Marco. 

“Kaddesh, Urechatz,   
Karpas, Yachatz,   
Maggid, Rachtzah,   
Motzi, Matzah,   
Maror, Korekh,   
Shulchan Orekh,   
Tzafun, Barekh,   
Hallel, Nirtzah.”

“See? Like a nursery rhyme.” Jean rubbed his hands together, satisfied he'd made his point. Marco blinked back at him slowly, face blank.

“Jean, I couldn't repeat a word of that right now if my  _ life  _ depended on it.” He admitted. “I don't even know if I can learn one of those words, much less fifteen of them.”

Jean dragged his hands down the sides of his face, then shook his head vigorously, deciding against further practice altogether. “The words aren't the important part.”

Marco twisted his mouth to one side. “You said the rhyme was--”

“Just… Just  _ forget  _ what I said, ok?” Jean insisted, his frustration becoming obvious. “Just do whatever I do, and whatever Hitch and Farlan do, and you’re gonna be fine, alright?”

“Yeah. Yeah, alright.” Marco nodded, and dropped the conversation there, but Jean knew him better than to think he wasn't just as worried about it as Jean was. 

That night, Marco slept beside him, as Jean lay awake for most of the night. 

\--

“You ok?” 

Marco pulled Jean aside as his family began to fill the foyer. Jean knew the worry was evident on his face. He only hoped Marco was the only one perceptive enough to notice. 

“An hour ago, I was. Now I'm not so sure.”

Marco reached for his hand, squeezed it. “You wanna talk about it?”

“Not at the moment. Gonna be doin’ enough talking, the next few days.” Jean looked back over his shoulder, at the half dozen relatives already gathered, waiting for others to arrive. “How did my mom always pull this off and make it look so easy? How did she put up with all the drama and pettiness and bullshit, and still come out lookin’ like a queen?” Jean looked down at his hand in Marco’s, and realized the only thing keeping him from shaking was his boyfriend's steady grip. He breathed a ragged sigh. “And why can't I do half the job she did?”

“You’re just getting started, doing all of this.” Marco reminded him, careful not to touch anything more than his hand, to keep a distance that Jean’s relatives would hopefully find polite and palatable. “Your mom had a lot of years to practice. I’m sure when it was just her and your dad starting out, they had to figure things out, too. That's just life. And I’m sure, in a few years, we--” Marco stopped short, cleared his throat before continuing, quieter. “In a few years  _ you _ will have it all under control.”

_ “We,” _ Jean said quickly, firmly, “I want it to be ‘we’.”

Marco smiled “Me too. If you don't mind me being the world’s worst pretend Jew.”

“I wouldn't say worst.” Jean laughed, the sight of Marco’s sweet smile lifting the weight from his chest, just a little. “Besides, you look really fucking adorable trying to say the Pesach rhyme.” 

“About as cute as you do, trying to speak Portuguese, I imagine.” 

“Touché.” Jean grinned, fighting back the urge to seize Marco around the waist, right there in front of everyone. He leaned in, just enough to be heard, his voice a low whisper. “Why don't you come upstairs with me after everyone leaves for the night, and we can work on our  _ pronunciation _ a bit, before my relatives descend upon us again tomorrow.”

Marco laughed. “You make them sound like some kind of plague.” Jean nodded.

“Sweetheart, spend enough holidays with my family, and you’ll understand.”

With that, Marco grinned, wider than ever. “I’d love to.”

\--

_ Kaddesh, Urechatz, _ __   
_ Karpas, Yachatz, _ __   
_ Maggid, Rachtzah, _ __   
_ Motzi, Matzah, _ __   
_ Maror, Korekh, _ __   
_ Shulchan Orekh, _ __   
_ Tzafun, Barekh, _ _   
_ __ Hallel, Nirtzah.

The meal, the rituals, and the fellowship that Jean’s family observed with it went on as it always had, as it always would. Marco watched in quiet amazement as they repeated words he could scarcely comprehend, and followed traditions older than everyone at the table, combined. By all accounts, it was a very average sedar. And to Jean’s great surprise - and probably everyone else’s, save perhaps Marco - it wasn't a total disaster. 

Sure, there were a few painfully long moments of awkward silence. Yes, there was Jean’s eldest uncle, sitting as far as humanly possible from he and Marco, to avoid breathing the same air, or whatever the hell his malfunction was. And yeah, there was some over-cooked food, some questionable wine, and more than one timing faux pas on Marco’s part, but it was all entirely possible to overlook. 

Because there were also the smiles of Jean’s aunts, and the way they reminded him in their softer moments of his late mother. There was also the laughter of his cousins and their dates, playful and teasing and just what Jean needed to get him through everything. There was also the feeling of home, of sitting at a table he had sat at for many holidays before, in a chair that had always been his. 

And there was also Marco’s hand squeezing Jean’s beneath the table, and the feeling of knowing that after everything was said and done, even if it had been a tremendous flop, he still had those hands to hold. 

At the end of the meal, Jean raised his glass for one last informal toast, a ritual his father had started, his mother had carried on, and that Jean was determined to keep alive. He knew they would be proud of him. 

Part of him thought that somehow, somewhere, maybe they  _ were. _

The last drink was sweeter than any before it. 

\--

“Good job, man.” Farlan clapped Jean on the shoulder, as he, Hitch and their dates made their way toward the door, some of the last to leave for the evening. “You almost seemed like you knew what the hell you were doing.”

Jean snorted. “Yeah. Maybe by the time I’m like thirty, I’ll be able to get through the sedar without looking forward to the extra bottle of wine I’ve got stashed.” Farlan cocked an eyebrow, chuckling as he bumped his knuckles against Jean’s chest. 

“You’d better split that bottle, if you know what’s good for you.”

“Hey, it's b.y.o.b, around here.” Jean smiled. He turned to Marco, looking him over once, before amending, “Except for you,  _ you  _ get to share.”

“Oh, I see.” Farlan said, rolling his eyes dramatically. “Boyfriend privilege, or some shit.” 

Jean grinned. “Tell you what. You get to put up with all the shit Marco does from me, and then maybe I’ll consider splitting that bottle more than two ways.”

“Forget about it!” Farlan waved as he followed the girls’ urging to finally make his way out of the house. “I know a bum deal when I hear one.”

With another wave in Marco’s direction and a chorus of goodbyes, they were gone, and Jean closed the door on a chaotic family holiday.  _ The first of many, _ his brain offered. 

_ But it's over for now, _ he offered back. 

“You’ve more than earned your share of the wine.” Marco said softly. He stood leaning back onto the closed door, his posture open and inviting, waiting for Jean to move toward him. Jean took the unspoken offer and looped an arm around his neck, pressing his face to Marco’s chest for a moment, just breathing. 

“I don't know what Farlan was talking about,” he said after a few seconds of blissful, beautiful silence. “I think I’m getting a pretty good deal. You, in nothing but my bedsheets all night tonight, with nowhere to be tomorrow morning,  _ and _ I get a glass or two of wine?” He brought his other arm up to hook around Marco’s neck, leaning up the ever so slight distance between their heights for a kiss. Smiling against Marco’s lips, he murmured, “I hit the damned jackpot.”

Marco nodded his agreement. “This is better than spring holidays at my family’s house by a long shot.”

Jean remembered the whole ‘familial obligations’ thing with a heavy dropping in his chest, remembered that they still likely had years of dealing with not only his relatives, but Marco's, before they could finally find a comfortable place between both families. He nodded stiffly. 

“Guess we should probably go to those too, yeah?” 

Marco shrugged. “Not sure if they’ll want Alisa and I to bring our ‘friends’, but if you’re game for the world’s most awkward breaking of kosher, I’d love you to be there.”

“Sounds like a great time.” Jean smiled. “How many bottles of wine should we have ready for afterward?”

“Two. A full bottle for each of us, and consider just making it straight tequila.”

At that, Jean laughed aloud, full and strong and _ real.  _ It was a welcome change of pace from the days before as he wiped a tear from his eye, still chuckling between breaths. 

“You know, I'd like to actually  _ remember  _ the part that happens after the egg hunt.”

“True.” Marco grinned, as gorgeous as ever. “Wine it is, then.”

“Speaking of which, toast?” Jean moved away, lingering for half a second longer than he needed to before retrieving their glasses from the counter. He snatched the bottle of wine he’d stowed away beneath the countertop, and headed back to where Marco stood. 

“To?” Marco asked, accepting his glass gladly, steadying it for Jean to fill. 

Jean huffed a laugh. “Surviving.”

_ “Thriving.” _ Marco countered, as Jean filled their glasses. Jean grinned, nodding in concession.

“Something like that. At least while you’re here.”

\--

They finished a glass apiece and then another, until they'd polished off the bottle, between them. Full and warm and happy, Jean tugged Marco up the stairs to his bedroom, both of them bursting into a fit of giggles as they flopped down onto Jean’s bed, knowing they had nowhere to be for a while, except right beside one another. 

After a while, nothing but pleasant silence between them, save for the sounds of sweet sighing and quiet kisses, Marco spoke. 

“Thank you,  _ meu bem.” _

Jean looked back at him quizzically, almost amused. “For what?”

“Sharing this with me.” Marco replied. Jean swallowed the lump that was trying to form in his throat, opting to smile instead.

“Thank you, for being here. Wish it could've gone a little smoother, but this evening is a fair trade.”

“I think it went perfectly well. Besides,” Marco grinned, “We have the rest of our lives to work on it. Might take me that long to get that little rhyme down.”

“Yeah. Yeah, we do have a while.” Jean laughed, letting his hand trail down Marco’s back, tracing back up his side before thumbing gently at his jaw. Only when Marco caught his attention again, when Jean saw the dazzling brightness in his eyes at Jean’s words, did he realize the implications of what he'd said. He bit his lip, his breath stuttering for a moment as he tried to sound sure of himself. He knew what he hoped for; he could only hope Marco wanted the same. “If you want to, that is.”

Marco smiled, slow and small this time, his usual sunburst grin tucked away for the moment. This was an expression Jean had only ever seen when they were alone together, a smile just for him. Marco reached out to pull him closer, until they were pressed against one another, heart to beating heart. 

“You already know that I do.” He said surely, and pressed the softest of kisses right between Jean’s eyes. 

The next morning, Jean awoke to a feeling of peace, his face still warm from being wrapped up in Marco the whole night before. He lifted his head just enough to see Marco’s still sleeping face, smiling at his dreams. Jean placed a kiss to the same spot Marco had kissed him the night before, right between his fluttering eyes, and laid back down beside him. 

  
He still wasn't sure he understood the things his family celebrated during the holidays and holy days, but he had never felt more blessed. 


End file.
